


If the Queen Wants Bacon

by LadyShada



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #StayHomeWriMo, Attempt at Humor, Bacon, Breakfast, Coffee, Dean Winchester is an angry sleeper. Like a bear., Gen, Hungry Dean Winchester, Prompt Fic, Tired Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShada/pseuds/LadyShada
Summary: After a difficult hunt with an unexpected outcome, all Dean wanted was a good night's sleep and a hot cup of coffee in the morning. Maybe some bacon. He never expected this...#StayHomeWriMo Day #2 Prompt: Pick 5 words at random from different blog posts, tweets or articles and use them all in a scene.Words: recreated, proximity, interest, cardboard, environment
Kudos: 9





	If the Queen Wants Bacon

“What the hell…?” Dean took a step back, retreating from the kitchen doorway. Or at least he  _ thought  _ this was the kitchen. It was the last time he checked. 

Now it looked like some cardboard renaissance faire. In the far corner in front of the stove was an old, beat-up refrigerator box that had been cut into something that maybe sort of resembled a castle gateway if you squint really hard and were blind in one eye. On either side of the center gateway, sliced-open boxes extended along two entire walls of the room, crude hand-drawn “stones” marking them as some sort of castle wall. 

A fake wall that blocked him from the  _ real  _ fridge. Blocked him from breakfast. From coffee. 

From bacon.

“Seriously?” Dean grumbled. He ran his hands through his already disarrayed hair, throwing it into a deeper state of unrest. 

“Halt, naive!” a familiar female voice called out from behind the cardboard castle gate. “Thou doth tread upon the queen’s land without cause or invitation. State thy purpose and business, or the Knights of Winbury shall smite thee where thou stands.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean mumbled to himself, rolling his head and his eyes.

A sudden “pop” snapped the elder Winchester to uncertain action, his eyes widening as he shifted slightly to the side. An accompanying “thwap” to his left drew his attention, and Dean looked over to see a red suction cup dart sticking to the kitchen wall beside his head. 

“Hey!” he shouted, turning toward the castle gate. 

From a small little window cut into the cardboard wall nearest the fridge, the face of Charlie Bradbury appeared, very serious, dart gun in hand. “A warning has been issued!” Charlie stated clearly. “The queen demands your respect, or you shall feel the wrath of--”

“All right!” Dean said, holding up his hands quickly and backing down. “Okay. Just...give me a sec here.” He dropped his hands into the pockets of his plush robe, rocking back on his heels as he thought. “I...uh…” he stammered. His brain tried to push through, come up with some words, something that made sense. His eyes wandered the wall of the kitchen before landing on the coffee maker that was peeking out through another castle window.

“I, um...Dean Winchester of...Bunker...dom--” Dean started, rubbing a hand over his face in a futile effort to erase this whole moment from existence, “--state my interest in...the coffee.”

Charlie’s face disappeared from the window. Behind the cardboard structure, there was the sound of shuffling and whispering. 

Then the gruff voice of Castiel filtered out from behind the castle walls. He never was good at whispering, Dean mused. “I don’t think I should play a part in this,” Castiel protested.

More whispering.

More of Castiel not even trying to whisper. “I told you. He gets angry.”

“I’m not angry!” Dean yelled. He pointed over to the coffee pot. “I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I want my damn coffee!”

“Hey!” Charlie broke character, popping her head up over the wall and glaring at Dean, the dart gun still in her hand. She leveled him with a gaze that made him purse his lips shut and back up another step. “Language,” she warned, nodding her head downward and to her left. “Company. Remember?”

Dean lifted his chin and blinked in sudden recognition. That’s right. He let out a small sigh. The kid. Before he could respond, however, the refrigerator box castle door opened and fell to the floor slowly to reveal Castiel - suit, tie, trench coat, cardboard shield and tin foil sword. Dean’s mouth fell open slightly, hazel-green eyes meeting the angel’s blue. Castiel’s shoulders drooped, and he cleared his throat. 

“It is I, Castiel the Brave,” he said in a strange monotone reminiscent of a five year old with stage fright. “Her highness has requested I...” Castiel hesitated and his eyes dropped to the side, where Dean could clearly hear a short little giggle. The angel sighed before turning back to Dean. “Her highness has requested I subdue you and bring you before her for judgement.” 

“‘Subdue me’?” Dean repeated, making a face and tapping his chest. “You?” Dean pointed to Castiel and gave a short huff before he settled into an amused grin. “Yeah, right.”

“I have been instructed to use any means necessary,” Castiel said seriously.

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. “All right, Knight Castiel of the Round Halo or whatever. Consider me warned.” He dropped a leg back behind him, the belt of his plush robe swinging lightly as he held up both hands in a karate-esque style. “C’mon,” Dean taunted with a glint in his eye and a tilt of his chin. “Try me.”

That’s when the attack came. Not from the front, but from the side.

An unnatural whoop rang out from the far end of the hallway. Dean turned to see Sam barreling toward him, a foam dart gun clutched in his brother’s hands and aimed right at him. One by one, the foam darts flew toward him, pelting Dean mercilessly and bouncing off his face, arms, and legs as he twisted and flailed and tried to get out of the line of fire by moving further into the kitchen. 

“Hey,  _ hey _ , HEY!” Dean yelled, the arms of his robe flapping around wildly as he turned in a circle. “Just stop! Ok? Stop!”

Sam laughed quietly, a quick puff of air out his nose that was barely noticeable, and then he came to some sort of attention in the kitchen doorway. The slight smirk on his face pinched his eyes slightly closed but did nothing to dull the amusement that brightened them. “The queen has requested an audience,” Sam directed at his brother.

“No, the queen’s cronies frickin’  _ attacked  _ me is what happened here,” Dean said, pointing first at Castiel and then turning on his heels to look at Sam. “Even  _ you _ . What is this, man? You don't do this.”

"Do what?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

"This!" Dean said, swirling his arms around to indicate the make-believe world around them. "All of  _ this _ ."

"You mean 'fun'?" Sam asked with a shake of his head and a short chuckle. "I don't do fun?"

"No," Dean answered seriously, standing up a little straighter. "No, you do not. And this isn't fun. How is this fun?” he asked, a look of disgust spreading over his features. Before anyone could respond, Dean hushed them all with a raise of his hands and then pointed to the counter. “Coffee," he said, his voice dark and low. He pointed to the fridge. "Bacon." He pointed down at the floor. "Now."

As Sam opened his mouth to protest, Charlie cleared her throat loudly and dramatically, drawing the attention of everyone toward the castle gate. And just as quickly as the irritation and frustration had gathered in a whirlwind around Dean, it was suddenly evident by the relaxation of his shoulders and the softening of his eyes that he was over it. 

The little blue eyes of a six-year-old girl looked up at him outside the cardboard castle gate.  “Sir Dean Winchester of Bunkerdom,” she said softly, her little chin held high, her short-cropped black hair barely brushing her shoulders. 

Dean gave a small smile. He had to admit the kid had guts. This whole cardboard kingdom might be just a recreated fairytale story to keep her entertained until they found her family, got her home, and got her life back to something in close proximity to “normal”. But you couldn’t just fake that kind of confidence. Not entirely. 

“I’m sorry you were waiting,” she said. “I know that you are tired.”

Dean straightened up the belt on his robe and stood a little taller. “You got that right, ki--I mean, uh...your majesty,” he said, adding a small bow at the waist. “I was hoping for a bit of that coffee you’ve got right over that castle wall there.” Dean pointed toward the pot.

“I know,” the girl answered with a nod. “We will help you in your quest.” She turned around and stuck her head back in the castle gate. “Charlie!” she whispered loudly. “The coffee!”

“Yes, your highness,” Charlie responded. She stood up and walked over to the pot, pouring a mug of the steaming liquid and then smiling at Dean as she ducked through the castle gate and came forward. “The queen presents you with a gift, Sir Dean.”

“Finally,” he answered, reaching out with both hands to grab the mug. Charlie pulled it away, raising her eyebrows, and Dean sighed. “Okay,” he acquiesced. “Fine. I, uh, humbly and graciously accept your...elixir of life.”

“Nice,” Charlie said with a tilt of her head and a note of sisterly praise in her voice. She handed him the mug. Dean took it quickly, pulling it close, closing his eyes, and inhaling deeply.

The little girl before him smiled happily as Charlie came to stand alongside her once more. “Would you care to join me and my court for breakfast, Sir Dean?” she asked.

Dean took a sip of coffee before raising his eyebrows. “Is there bacon?” 

“You have  _ bacon _ ?” the girl fairly gasped, dropping the queenly charade and becoming a kid once again.

“Yep,” Dean answered. “But uh...you gotta let me past those castle gates. ‘Cause you’re kinda hoarding all the stuff. Deal?”

“Deal,” the girl said with a smile. 

Dean held up his coffee mug in a celebratory salute. “Awesome,” he said. “We have come to an arrangement. Go.” He nodded his head toward the table. “Sit.”

“C’mon, Jenna,” Charlie said softly, reaching out to offer her hand. Without hesitation, the girl pulled her blanket cape around her, took Charlie’s hand and padded her way quietly to the kitchen table.

“Hey, Sasquatch,” Dean called out to his brother, waving him over. “Help me scale these castle walls, will ya?”

Sam huffed once at the nickname, pursed his lips, and let any possible retort fade away. Instead he answered, “Yeah, one sec,” and set the foam dart gun down near the doorway. He crossed the floor in two steps and came over to grab the opposite end of the cardboard castle wall for his brother. Together they moved it over to the side of the kitchen.

“You made any progress on finding Jenna’s folks?” Dean asked between sips of coffee. He moved over to the counter, setting down his mug and pulling open the fridge door

“We’ve tried,” Sam said, leaning against the freezer, “but she hasn’t given us much to go on. Just snippets, really. Nothing concrete. Cass and I think the memory loss could just be a temporary thing - an effect of the toxin they were using to dose her. At least that’s what we’re hoping.”

Dean reappeared from the fridge, bacon and eggs in hand. “You’re ‘hoping’?” he repeated seriously, raising an eyebrow

Sam shrugged his shoulder gently. “Yeah,” he answered sadly. “I mean, right now, it’s all we’ve got. It’s been, what, less than 24 hours since we dragged Jenna out of a hellish environment. We don’t even know everything they did to her, how long they kept her. We might  _ never  _ know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said simply, letting the door of the fridge shut behind him as he busied himself at the stove. He glanced behind him just once to see Charlie sitting next to Jenna at the table. The kid was trying to teach Castiel some handclap game; he wasn’t getting it. Dean turned back to the stove and laid some bacon in the pan. “The kid’s been through hell, man. She needs her family.”

“I know,” Sam answered, raising a hand and shaking his head. “I do. But right now, Dean...we’re all she’s got.”

Dean snorted as he cracked the eggs one by one into a bowl before picking up a large fork and mixing them into a whirlwind. “That ain’t much,” he said with a shake of his head. “Two broken hunters, a computer geek, and a defunct angel in a trench coat. Oh, yeah. We’re a great catch.”

Sam’s brow unfurrowed with a small chuckle, and he dropped his chin before looking over at the kitchen table and then back at his brother. “Look, give it time. We’ll keep working with her, see if she can remember anything else. We’ll figure it out,” Sam said simply. “We always do.”

“Damn right, we do,” Dean said with a nod of his head and a flip of bacon strips in the pan. “And for now, until we find Jenna’s family, her  _ real  _ family--” He pointed a fork at his brother. 

“--if the queen wants bacon, we give her bacon.”


End file.
